


Hurt For Me

by helloliriels



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, John is arrested, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Police, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloliriels/pseuds/helloliriels
Summary: John Watson is being arrested for murder, while Sherlock watches their world fall apart.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	1. Cross This Line

- **HURT FOR ME - SYML-**

**_I see your face in blurry shades_ **

**_and I reach out for your hand_ **

**_all your ways I can't explain, but I want to understand_ **

**_My love, I only want you next to me_ **

**_Sweet love, how long before you hurt for me?_ **

**_Do you hurt for me?_ **

* * *

"I want you by my side," Sherlocked breathed next to him. So quietly, only they could hear. His lips hardly ghosting, as the cameras flashed around them. Both were blankly staring at the crowd that surrounded on all sides. The police escort. The caution tape. The reporters. Here Sherlock was baring his heart out, and wishing - more than he had ever wanted anything in his whole privileged life, that for one precious moment, they could have had the privacy of 221b. The chance to say this in closed quarters. Behind locked doors. And to take it all back, if need be...

Where it would it have lead? He asked himself.

Not here.

Now they were on display. And it was all his fault. He should have foreseen this.

He was grappling with the full reality, that this might be his last real moment with John Hamish Watson.

There was no room for halves.

"John?" he begged. And Sherlock,

never begged.

But Watson was not making eye contact. Stoically bearing the weight of what was happening all around them.

Sherlock worried that he might not have heard, or may not want to speak to him. Ever again. Now that... He barely reached out an arm, before having his hand pulled roughly back into lockdown. And when John breathed in sharply, Sherlock's stilled his own intake, to hear what he would reply. The few moments they had left, were a precious commodity. And he _needed_ to know.

"I am by your side, Sherlock. For what it's worth." John stated, "Just the two of us against the world." He sounded fatalistic. And Sherlock dreaded where his mind was, as he continued. "I've always wanted just to _be_ , with you. Wherever it lead. By your side." _I've tried to keep you right. To keep things even. To not rock the boat._ His unspoken message stated clearly to Sherlocks ears. And Sherlock felt his heart breaking.

Watson hadn't known then... 

"I was _always_ yours... " Watson surprised him, by continuing... "to do with as you will."

_And I kept you at arms length._ Sherlock thought to himself.It had always been there. His to take. _And he had let it slip through his fingers_. What an utter fool he had been.

"You are," John stated simply, "after all - the only thing that made life worth living." Then John lifted his chin, and stood up straighter. As the police officers came and took him in arm, guiding him away.

Sherlock reached out for John's fingers a moment too late - for he had moved just beyond the limitations of the handcuffs binding Sherlock's wrists. His anger flared up, and he yelled at the sky. In a language no tongue was needed to interpret.

Bare grief.

Raw pain.

He was ripped open by the invitation that had been laid at his feet. Only to be taken away. A paradise built on clouds. Fading. With every step Watson took. It was pulled further away. A void being drawn wide, that would soon engulf the world.

For he had been, Sherlock's world.

Sherlock found himself now being dragged in the opposite direction.

To a waiting armored car.

Black

and

sleek.

Mycroft would pay for this treachery...


	2. Swallow The Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock. And John. Alone. In their respective prisons.

- **HURT FOR ME - SYML-**

**_Oh, no_ **   
**_Tonight I find it hard to swallow_ **   
**_The bed is made and I feel hollow_ **   
**_My friends suggest that I should take it slow_ **   
**_I took it slow_ **

**_And I sweat it out, I'm not okay_ **   
**_And I'm shaking on the floor_ **   
**_I lie awake and I count the days_ **   
**_And I wait beside the door_ **

**_For love_ **   
**_I only want you next to me_ **   
**_Sweet love_ **   
**_How long before you hurt for me, hurt for me?_ **

* * *

"I want you by my side."

Sherlock had said to him...

John Watson had answered truthfully. There was no other place he would rather be, than with Sherlock Holmes. Even if it was to end this way...

The realization had come rather shortly upon meeting Sherlock. It surprised him, just as much as it had surprised everyone Sherlock knew _before_ John...

John often smiled at the incredulous responses it engendered from those they met. He was cocky with it. Here he was, a normal boy-next-door, running around with the most brilliant (and to be honest, the most stunningly beautiful) man in London. Him. Plain jane. Army boy. Boring doctor. John Hamish Watson. He couldn't believe his luck. He couldn't believe this was happening. To him.

Why him?

He kept waiting for the day, when Sherlock would get bored of him. The man had an insatiable appetite for new experiences. A dangerous craving for an adrenaline rush. A rapacious way of devouring knowledge. Going so far as to test the limits of scientific experiments, with chemistry and even the occasional drug (Watson had safely warned him off a few of those, by sharing his own personal experience in full detail). But he knew it was inevitable _at some point_ that Sherlock would become bored. Of him. Specifically.

The geniuses. The greats. The truly gifted of this world, were not going to suffer the presence of the ordinary, for long. Right? But he had managed to push aside the fear. So long as Sherlock continued to look at him _like that._

_Like he was interesting._

_Like he was a puzzle to be solved._

_Like he, himself, was a mystery._

Watson was high on it. And he didn't really understand it. But he loved every damn minute of it.

And when days, turned into weeks. And weeks, turned into months. And months, turned into a full year. And then, they had been celebrating their first - what? _It was left unspoken._ He filled in the thought: _Anniversary. It had been like an anniversary._ And it had been important. To both of them. To mark it.

Watson had watched with humor, as the mask began to slip from Sherlock's stoic exterior throughout that past year. The longer he knew him. If anything, you would think this would have shattered the persona, the brilliance of Sherlock Holmes. Diminish him in some way, in Watson's eyes. But it had the completely opposite effect. It endeared him to him, so much the greater, than if he had found no flaws. No chinks in the armor. At all.

And Sherlock (he could tell) had been so afraid to let that mask slip! Afraid also, more curious still, that the knowledge would make John Watson like him less. Or even, heaven forbid, leave him.

Like Watson... might grow bored... of him?

John was in awe.

They had spent so much time together, been so engrossed in the web of deceit and trickery that was Jim Moriarty - that neither of them had seen the writing on the wall. The crime that now placed John behind bars.

The murder had not been optional.

Nor could John find any flaw in the argument the Jury was bound to be presented with.

He had killed the woman after all.

He had killed her with the .22 found on the scene.

It had been his gun.

And he had pulled the trigger.

And he had meant to.

He sighed. What the jury wouldn't be presented with, and frankly wouldn't believe (he hardly believed it himself), was that he had had no choice in the matter. And he certainly could not tell them, that he was infinitely glad _he_ had pulled the trigger. And not Sherlock. The trap had been _for_ Sherlock. The bait had been placed _to lure_ Sherlock. And John was bound to come running. For Sherlock. So the trap had been set for him as well.

He saw the look of infinite sadness cross Sherlock's face, the moment he had pulled the trigger.

He had wanted to take it back.

To stop the careening bullet, that was now rushing towards it's intended target. And bound to hit with full deadly force upon arrival. DOA. Intent to kill. Premeditated. Murder.

He just wished he _had realized the full gravity of the situation._.. sooner.

Instinct had kicked in. Taken over. Years of army training. Of defending. But in preventing one wound, he had created a much greater wound. One that might never heal.

At least he had breathed a sigh of relief, Sherlock was still standing.

Sherlock appeared unharmed in his vision a moment later, when the woman was down. He hadn't realized that he had closed his eyes when taking the shot. And then he caught another look at Sherlock's face. Still fixed. On him.

And it was at that moment,

that he _knew._

_No one_ ,

not even the Superman that was

that _is_

Sherlock Holmes, could now fix _this_ situation.

The look on Sherlock's face, would be forever fixed in his memory. Alongside the laughs. The smiles. The rapture. The enlightenment. The aha. The scintillating. The austere. The bored. The petty. The fierce. The chagrin. The hyperfixated. Now there was a new look to catalogue. The devastation.

His thoughts dwelt on all of these things. As he looked up and out the thin window of his cell here, at the London police station. The solid white walls. The metal cot. The iron bars. The tick of feet across the parquet floors. The MET. A place he had considered, almost friendly, as of two days ago. Where he had come so many times, in the company of Sherlock. And he was now a guest himself. He laughed a little at his own stupidity. A guest would have the option to leave...

John Watson set his shoulders and would not allow himself to show defeat. If his sacrifice would mean that at least Sherlock would get out of this alive, then it had been worth it. 

It was getting late.

Lestrade had not come down to visit him. Perhaps he could not? Without looking like he was playing favorites? It had hurt John, to realize. That even this friendship, would be of no help to him _here._

But most of all, it hurt that Sherlock _had not come._ Had he really expected him to? Or to even _be able to??_ If he had even wanted to?

But he had.

He found, for some reason, that he _had_ still hoped. _Against all hope_. That Sherlock could cause a miracle to happen. And come get him out. Take him home. Brush him off. Check him for wounds. _Kiss his face._ He shook his mind free.

If nothing else, this was had been more profound proof than anything provided, that their situation was dire. If the British government. _If even Mycroft Holmes - could not fix this._

John tried not to allow himself to succumb. He had to remain strong. He had to be the wall the waves broke upon for Sherlock. He would hurt. He would burn. If that is what Moriarty wanted out of this game he had set for them.

So long as he let Sherlock live.

Please god. Let him be okay. Alive. That is all I ask. I swear!

John slumped against the ceramic tile. His shoulders rocking at last, as the hours passed by. Curling in on himself there. As he silently. Suddenly. Wept. For no one to see. No one to hear.

Curled up into a ball

On the floor.

And fell asleep.

***

Sherlock was pacing the room. 

Glaring holes into Mycroft's chair. Mycroft's locked doors. Mycroft's damn fucking stupid goddamn paintings!!

He was livid. He grabbed something on Mycroft's desk and threw it against the nearest door. Making a hollow echo. But having no other effect. 

John was arrested.

Sherlock was humiliated.

Was the man happy now??

He could practically hear Mycroft's voice, chiding him for his outburst. His temper tantrum.

_O god! Was he going to give him a reason for it in a moment!_

His fists, unused to physical fighting, but not ignorant of it's finer points. Flexed and itched to be employed.

He felt like John for a moment.

Lightning in a bottle.

Caged and ready to be unleashed.

All along, he had known that Moriarty could NOT be smart enough to handle all of this alone. Jim Moriarty had proven his genius, certainly. Sherlock bowed to that knowledge quickly enough to not be played by it. But this?? This smelt of Mycroft. And Mycroft alone.

A plan to burn Sherlock had been the cover. Yes. Moriarty had made that game _very_ clear.

Outline and all.

Step 1

Make Sherlock dance.

Step 2

Make Sherlock beg.

Step 3

Make Sherlock burn,

Step 4

Make Sherlock break.

Sherlock had played along nicely enough with the dancing, and the begging. He wasn't above employing his own well earned skills in deceit to aid in the capture of a criminal mind so devious. But he had not thought he was taking John in with him. And he began to wonder, had he been fully honest with John the whole time? Had he confused John in any way? In the process, as to what part was a lie? and what had been real?

It might have meant the difference in where he was standing today.

In where John was standing _now._

A shiver ran down his spine.

Minutes went by.

Sherlock twitched with anger.

Hours went by.

Sherlock seethed.

When it became obvious that Mycroft was not making an appearance. Sherlock sat. Poised and ready. Head back. Hands steepled in front of him, as he sat behind Mycroft's desk and dove into his mind palace to try and hash out a solution.

He surfaced once or twice to check the phone line. Dead. 

Mycroft had knowingly had it disconnected.

He also tested the functionality of the security cameras.

Still on.

He would not give Mycroft the luxury of seeing him _feel._

* * *

**_Oh, no_ **   
**_Tonight I find it hard to swallow_ **   
**_The bed is made and I feel hollow_ **   
**_My friends suggest that I should take it slow_ **   
**_I took it slow_ **

**_And I sweat it out, I'm not okay_ **   
**_And I'm shaking on the floor_ **   
**_I lie awake and I count the days_ **   
**_And I wait beside the door_ **

**_For love_ **   
**_I only want you next to me_ **   
**_Sweet love_ **   
**_How long before you hurt for me, hurt for me?_ **


End file.
